The Voygné Gift
by BooLoo2
Summary: Voygné is an ancient tradition in which two souls are bound together, one to wage war and the other a withheld gift, desired greatly and hard won, meant to bait a warrior to greatness. Unfortunately, Loki has other plans, and they do not include playing glorified doll to an Asgardian prince. Thor/Loki. Slash! AU!
1. Prologue Part 1

**Disclaimer: Don't own Thor…**

**Summary:** Voygné is an ancient tradition in which two souls are bound together, one to wage war and the other a withheld gift, desired greatly and hard won, meant to bait a warrior to greatness. Unfortunately, Loki has other plans, and they do not include playing glorified doll to an Asgardian prince. Thor/Loki. Slash!

**Warnings:** Mind-F***ing Children, Possessive!Obsessive!Thor, Loki being Loki, Angst, Dark and anything else I can think of. _**Anything's fair game so consider yourself warned**_!

* * *

**The Voygné Gift**

******Prologue- Part 1  
**

* * *

There is an ancient tradition in Asgard, one that has stretched back to their earliest ancestors and has shaped the greatest warriors in all the nine realms, has bred the most powerful- and most loyal- of Asgardians to serve their kingdom.

_Voygné_: the taking and giving of the one.

It begins with the choosing of two children, one to be trained in the art of war, the Seeker, the other their reward should they prove themselves worthy in the eyes of the Allfather.

It is the exchange of bonds more precious than any coin.

They are separated, their mark branded upon the breast of the chosen warrior and the back of the Gift, set with forces more binding than a mountain's rest upon the ground or a planet's orbit to its star.

It is a siren's call, the pull that draws them together as nothing else may.

It is a contract thicker than blood.

Then they are separated, mere children losing a dear playmate, a tear shed and soon forgotten.

However, this is only the beginning, and the legacy of Asgard had not been founded upon a single tear.

There will be more than tears shed by the time the _Voygné_ is complete.

* * *

The first time he'd seen the younger boy, his thin waist too narrow and his face too pale, hiding behind a servant's skirts, the young Thor had not been impressed and he'd said as much to his father.

He'd been struck for that.

_A slight against one so precious_, his father had hissed.

Thor had not understood at the time. No. He had barely seen his fifth birthday by this time and he saw naught but a small boy of perhaps three being presented to him with a familiar mark on his back and an equally confused look in his eyes.

Green, he noticed. His eyes were so green.

_I want to go home_, the younger boy had said, voice small and quivering, holding to the serving maiden's long dress with both hands. _I want to see daddy_.

Odin had merely nodded his head towards the far door, gesturing for the child to be moved to a different chamber.

When the maiden ushered the young boy towards the door, the boy went willingly, though tears shone so brightly in his eyes.

Thor found his eyes drawn to those tears, unaware of his own actions, staring after the younger boy even after he and the maid had left the room.

_Weak_, his mind provided him. _Protect_, a gentler voice whispered to him from the depths of his chest, right below the mark branded so deeply upon him, but so small his consciousness did not hear it. _Protect_.

As quickly as it came though the voice was gone and he asked his father when they'd eat, because he was still too young to understand and his belly demanded his full attention.

However, the seeds of _Voygné_ had been sown nonetheless and Odin, satisfied, allowed his son this moment.

* * *

The second time he saw the younger boy was three weeks after their initial meeting, nothing but a passing glance of midnight black hair held tightly to a maiden's breast, tiny fingers curled into the fabric of her gown.

He found the image lingered behind his eyelids long after they'd gone, sharp and clear as though he were still before him held within the maiden's arms.

When he met his father later that evening, he asked of the boy's name.

_You have not earned his name, my son._

Young, and determined to prove his worth, Thor demanded to know how such a name was earned with all the haughtiness of a young prince.

Odin gave him a measuring look, and Thor straightened his back under the scrutiny.

_When you can wield a sword your mother shall tell you his name, for even I do not know it. Until then, you are not permitted to speak with the child. Understand?_

Thor nodded, though he didn't really understand it, not completely.

Still, he wouldn't give up. He was Thor Odinson after all, and a son of Odin would not be made unworthy by the name of a boy who cried and clung to maiden's skirts.

The next day, he demanded he be trained in the art of sword fighting.

* * *

Loki. That was the boy's name, and though Thor didn't know what he would do with it, he was proud to have it nonetheless.

Images of black hair and pale skin and green, green eyes flashed across his mind's eye and he decided that no one else was allowed to have the name. He'd learned to hold a sword and fight to get it after all, and he did not wish to share so freely that which he had had to bleed for.

He told his father as much and was met by a smile of approval, though Odin did express slight disappointment that his son would not share such a precious name with him.

The young Thor would not be moved though and the conversation was dropped.

A name even his father did not know, something known only to his mother and himself, the ultimate secret.

Needless to say, for a child whose father was the King of Gods, to possess something that his all-powerful father did not was like biting into a ripened fruit, plunging into cold waters on a hot day, or slipping under the covers after a hard day of training; refreshing and blissful.

_Mine. I earned it_. The little voice whispered, but still Thor did not hear it, did not understand the swelling in his chest as he repeated the name over and over in his mind, like a secret he longed to keep to himself and could not forget.

He fell asleep that night pondering the great secret that even his father did not know and he was pleased by it.

_Loki._ He'd thought, smiling. _Loki._

His breast warmed with approval, warmer and warmer each time the name entered his mind, the flesh beneath his mark tingling.

He believed it happiness, and maybe it was, but even as he remembered his father's praise and sighed in contentment at his approval, it was black hair and green eyes that stole across his vision.

Still, he thought little of it and slipped off to sleep, content to be in possession of something so rare and precious as a name even Odin did not know.

* * *

The third time he saw the younger boy was also a mere glimpse, the meeting of vivid green and clear blue eyes in the reflection of a passing shield within the boisterous hall's of Asgard as the kingdom celebrated his seventh birthday.

Those eyes had shocked him, ensnared his sight and quickened his heart even after the shield had moved on and the boy was not to be found despite Thor's searching.

Oh, and how Thor had searched. To sate his curiosity, and discover why the sight of those emerald eyes startled him so, he'd searched, and that was perhaps the most powerful drive of all for a child of his nature.

However, no one he'd asked had seen or even knew of a pale boy with bright green eyes and black hair wandering the halls at that time and he would not give any of them the name of the boy, not when he'd worked so hard to get it for himself.

_Loki_, his mind provided for him, as though thinking the name itself would summon the boy to his sight.

He felt a strange weight settle in his chest when he realized he could not find him.

The weight only grew as time passed.

* * *

Was it really so strange that he kept seeing _Loki_ no matter where he went? Was it coincidence? A test? A prank? He was not sure, but with each passing glance of that fluttering black hair or pale, glowing skin he found himself chasing after it, only to be met by nothing, empty space where once the child had been passing with his hand held tightly by a serving maiden, or worse, he'd happened upon the closing of a door that he could not enter.

It was so frustrating.

Finally, after months of trying and failing to catch elusive Loki, Thor approached his father and requested a meeting with the boy, claiming he was curious as to the boy's origins and person, which he was- how could he not be when he sees him and hears his name in his head so often- and that he would like to extend a hand of friendship to the boy.

Odin looked upon him with a knowing eye, a look Thor did not yet understand, before he spoke. _My son_, he began, _you have earned his name but have not earned the right to his company._ He gestured towards the doors. _Go and bring me the eye of a wild red boar of the forest so that you may offer it as proof of your valor. You may take only a spear with you._

Thor nodded in acceptance, but still he let his curiosity be known. _Father. Why must I always prove my worth before him? What is it that has made him worthy of such significance?_

Once more, Odin looked upon his son with searching eyes, before finally he seemed to find what he sought and let a smile curve his dry, cracking lips.

Slowly, he came to stand before his son, looking down into the face of his child as only a parent seeing their young one take great leaps towards adulthood can

_It is time I told you of your Gift, and the origin of that mark._ A slow, piercing stare lingered for the briefest of moments on his son before Odin was walking away and Thor was following obediently. _And also what that boy is to you._

Excited and curious, Thor could hardly keep himself from sprinting before his father and embracing him with all the might his young arms could conjure.

He was finally going to know why the name is so important.

_Loki_.

* * *

**AN:** I know the fic's a bit sketchy on some details, and Loki's all but nonexistent at the moment, but trust me when I say it's all part of the plot! Loki WILL be showing up for a MAIN appearance and left out details will show up later in the plot to make it more dramatic! This is merely an Prologue after all.

**Please review and tell me whether or not this is worth continuing**…


	2. Prologue Part 2

**Disclaimer: Don't own Thor…**

**AN:** Sorry for the confusion. I usually don't make such blatant mistakes like saying epilogue instead of prologue, but for some reason it just didn't click in my mind that it was wrong. I blame all the fanfictions with epilogues I've been reading lately. Thank you **Liz** for pointing it out to me.

* * *

**The Voygné Gift**

**********Prologue**- Part 2

* * *

He remembered. Remembered the cold winter winds caressing through his hair, the feel of new snow beneath his feet, the smell of crisp air in his lungs and the taste of ice fresh from spring pools on his tongue.

He remembered his father and brothers and how much he loved them. Remembered how they'd hissed and fought as the pale-skinned people had dragged them away and the one-eyed king had held his shaking body tightly to his chest and shushed his terrified whimpering.

_It will be all right, little one. Soon you will be the most precious jewel in all Asgard_. The one-eyed one had soothed as he'd descended the steps of the Jotunheim temple.

_But I don't want to. I want to stay with daddy_. He'd cried, twisting uselessly in the man's arms. _I don't want to go. I don't want to go._

He remembered being held down by the back of his neck, pinned to the soft padding, the overwhelming pain as a brand had been burned deeply into the flesh of his back and how he'd screamed for his daddy and his brothers and for help that did not come.

He remembered the fear and confusion when he was presented to the young prince and how badly he'd just wanted to go home.

He remembered the shock so great that even the tears had stopped falling when he'd looked into the mirror and found two, eerily bright green eyes staring straight back at him where once he'd had his father's red.

And that was when he knew they'd never let him go home-

Willingly.

* * *

At first he's been too shy and scared to really do much else than obey. Following after obediently as the servants had taken his hand and led him from room to room, cleansing him in the finest herbals and dressing him in the softest silks.

How he'd hated it.

The soaps and herbals were unpleasant against his skin, making him feel feverish and unclean, and the silks restricted his movements, hugging uncomfortably against his hips and neck when he tried to run or turn.

Shortly after his introduction of the strange Asgardian garments however, the servants had gone too far with their dressing of him and he'd ripped the gown to threads, crying and hissing wildly even as the maidens tried to shush him with promises of sweets and toys. Needless to say, it hadn't worked, for a jotun youngling has no need of such things.

So he'd raged for hours, attacking anyone who dared approach him, face flushed with fury and mouth stained from maiden's blood.

He was truly a sight indeed.

So blinded by fear and anger he was that when warm arms had taken him in a soft embrace he'd bitten down into the soft flesh without thought to their tenderness, growling like every bit of jotun he was, huffing through his nostrils even as tears streaked down his face in silent pain.

But those arms did not move away, did not even flinch.

_Loki_. A tired, weary voice spoke, soft and soothing in a way none of the maids' had been. _I am sorry. I am so sorry. Shush, child. I will take you to the springs_.

And the kind maiden had. She'd taken him to the springs tucked away within the palace's depths where the cool water rose from underground springs far below Asgard. She'd gently cleansed his tiny body of the strange-smelling soaps and herbals, hushing him with gentle hands and gentle words even as her blood dripped into the water and was carried away by the current.

Loki could still taste her blood on his tongue, its essence not unlike his own.

_It is hard, being a Gift of Asgard_. She'd said softly, holding the thrashing child close to her breast until exhaustion and grief had finally pushed him to accept her comfort. He didn't acknowledge her words however, merely cried silently in her arms. _I too, cried when I was taken from my home_.

It would be later that Loki would learn the maiden's name to be Frigga, Queen of Asgard, Gift to Odin Allfather himself.

He would never forget her kindness.

* * *

He ran away often, but was inevitably found in the end. What hope did he have for escape anyway, when the one way out of the Asgardian realm was guarded by a being that held the only means of transportation aside from the Allfather himself?

Heimdall was rapidly becoming the bane of Loki's existence.

Still, Loki escaped the sight of his attendants often and stole away in the one place none of his prison keepers ever seemed to think to look.

The library.

_Not surprising_, Loki would think bitterly as he'd stretch up as high as possible to reach his new conquest, _the barbarians don't seem to have any particular interest in books, much less the capacity to read and understand them_.

Loki though- oh, how the boy craved the knowledge they offered, the escape from his horrible, twisted reality.

The boy's mind was sharper than any blade, even so young.

At the age of five, he'd taught himself the Asgardian's written language- as loath as he was to admit it- for more than his pride and stubbornness he sought the knowledge hidden within the fading yellowed pages of those neatly stacked books just out of his understanding.

It became his pastime, his passion, his obsession, and he gave into the siren's call willingly, let it replace the longing forced upon him by _the mark_ scarred across his back for sun-kissed hair and youthful blue eyes on a boy who dared berate him and assume him unworthy of his time from first impressions alone.

Needless to say, when Loki looked back on his first meeting with the Asgardian prince, it left a bad taste in his mouth.

However, after months of stealing away precious hours amongst his silent, paperbound companions in an equally silent library, he came across a new book, one that would forever change his fate- and the fate of Asgard itself.

Milula: The Book of Magic.

* * *

Fascination, would be the word many would use to describe a boy so enraptured by a book had they witnessed Loki's attentiveness to the elegantly sprawled words, but for those who knew the boy, which was pitifully few, desperation was far more suited. The look in his eyes said it all, the mad hope that lay within the pages.

It took only two weeks for Loki to learn to throw his voice into another object, and three to throw his image before the eyes of another.

His secret. His sorcery became his secret, and he guarded it well, even from the one who saw all and held the key to his freedom grasped within his hands.

No longer was he Loki the Gift. Now he was Loki the sorcerer, and one day when he'd grown powerful enough to escape, all of Asgard would know his name and what it stood for.

And if Frigga noticed anything of the boy's new-found powers, she said nothing.

* * *

They were taking him to be shown to the boy-prince Thor again, and like every other occasion after that moment long ago when their eyes had met for the first time, Loki was not making it easy. He struggled and fought, but most importantly he'd learned to lash out with a venomous tongue, for his magic was his secret and he would not have it revealed until he could put it to use.

Oh, and what a tongue it was too, such scathing, youthful cruelty; each word like poison.

_Take me not in sight of that ignorant creature. I would rather bite my tongue before being given to the mad prince of ancient-minded barbarians._ He'd hiss, lashing out with small hands and small feet.

Such hatred, black, black thing that it was, stained all it touched.

And for a while it had worked, for no subject wishes to be faced with such truths, to be taught unwillingly to recognize the madness growing in such innocent blue eyes, to see the ravenous storm brewing with each glance of black hair and pale skin that crossed their prince's sight.

However, the Allfather was not to have his plans fall asunder under the lashing of a small silver-tongued child and took steps to ensure the young one's gift of tongue could not be used as a weapon of his own leisure.

The maids were changed to deaf-mutes, seeing only a child throwing tantrums as they took his hand in tight grips and hurried through the halls as he tugged and clawed, saw naught but a spoilt godling demanding his way.

Loki was no godling though, and his suppressed jotun blood fueled his mounting hatred towards the Asgardian people. Though his tongue was always, always tamed when he sat in the presence of the God-mother, for he remembered far back for one so young and he remembered her bloodied arms holding him in her gentle embrace as he cried and showed weakness in his fit of grief.

Loki learned quickly, as he always had, and soon he'd abandoned his tongue in the presence of those unmoved maidens.

He turned to other means, means that often ended with maidens mysteriously taking ill, or on one particularly nasty occasion, suddenly being struck blind.

If the God-mother noticed the less than kindly smile on the young boy's face as he'd watched her stumble about one sense shorter, then she said nothing.

* * *

It had been nearly three years by the time they met officially for the second time, and the occasion was held over a feast of freshly hunted boar.

As he sat silently at the table awaiting the inevitable meeting, Loki noted the absence of seating for the Allfather and the God-queen.

He found he did not like it, for loath as he was to admit he found some sort of perverse safety in the Asgardian king's presence, quite simply, he'd learned to fear Thor's longing eyes more.

Nothing good could come from eyes that desired another so strongly for no other reason than a mark on his chest and a name on his tongue. It was simply unnatural, and even at the tender age of six, it scared Loki that such powerful feelings were directed at him when he did not feel that the sentiments were mutual.

It was not normal for a child of eight to pine so desperately for the companionship of another child whom he'd seen naught but a handful of times for brief instances in extensive halls and crowded rooms.

Now, to be honest, Loki had felt the longing before, the tingle and burning of the mark on his back, but never to such an extent as the young prince seemed to express.

It made him wonder if there was something wrong with the godling Thor, or if the fault lay with him, Loki, the secret sorcerer.

Loki found he didn't care either way though.

He just wanted Thor away from him.

Far, far away.

So he'd never have to see those hungry blue eyes again.

* * *

**AN: **YAY! Second part of the prologue down, now it's time to start actual chapters. Hope you're enjoying it so far, and worry not, for chapters shall get longer and more detailed from here on out.

**Please review…**


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